Blood Ties
by PuttingThePoeInPoetry
Summary: In a world where one's heritage means everything and forces beyond the natural realm are condemned, the sheltered and abused bastard of a Free-Marcher Lord must come to terms with the world of Thedas, morphing from the manipulated into the manipulator before she burns out, or fades away.
1. Chapter 1: Blood Ties

Note - 1) TW: Abuse. 2) This short-story is subject to change as the OP is useless and indecisive as to whether her human Inquisitor should be a mage or a rogue- either way the story will remain essentially the same. This one's for the champion's who've shown an interest in Raen already- hope you like it.

"C'mon, do it!" he smirked, pressing an accusatory finger to her chest, pushing her away. He was older than her by almost two years, yet they were of near equal height. The stables were quiet, with only the occasional servant flitting across the courtyard depite it being the dead of night, though none would stop to help, not since Smithy had tried.

_I'm sorry, little lady, I know why he does it. Yer mother, she… wasn't a noble like his mama…and she was a Rivaini. Ah, It'll make sense when you're older."_

_"No it won't. That's not why he hates me Smithy, he wants me to do it again, but I can't." The littlest Trevelyan, or half-Trevelyan, bit her lip. Bright golden eyes avoiding his gaze beneath knitted brows. _

_"Do what again m'lady?", Smithy frowned, unsure what to expect. He hadn't heard anyone else call the girl "my lady" but it seemed proper to him. _

_She beckoned with a small finger and he leaned closer. "He wants me to do the magic again. So he can prove it this time…" Smithy did not have time to respond to the revelation that Raen Trevelyan was indeed a mage, for almost instantly the door to the Castle Smith flung open to reveal none other than her elder half-brother, Dante, who had discovered her last hiding place._

_"What are you doing?" he snapped at her. The poor girl recoiled, shrinking so that he seemed to tower over her. Now, Smithy was only an apprentice, but even he knew that when a half-noble girl was in trouble, one leapt to her aid. Dante had picked up a sword from the cooling rack ands was brandishing the still-orange steel at Raen, spluttering various insults and variations of "show me"._

_Smithy was not slow to act, snatching the sword rather easily from the agitated eleven year old. "Get out of 'ere yer little bastard!" Unfortunately the Smith continued in this fashion, picking up a dull blade and whacking Dante on the arm with it, gently though hard enough to cause a bruise. The child wailed and scampered off, positively screaming for his mother and the castle guards in turn."_

Raen did not see Smithy again, only heard the cries, only saw the blood.

She was fifteen now and Dante attacked her more than ever. It was growing more difficult not to hurt him, not to retaliate. Neutrality and numbness only stretched so far. This evening was no exception. The boy was, once again pushing the limits, to see if she would either tattle or fight. It was the middle of the night and Dante had woken her, kicking her in the stomach. "Get up!" he had cried. She obeyed, it would only be worse if she did not. Now they hid in the stables, waiting for the last servant to leave. Dante had obviously cooked up something original for his latest prank. He pushed her out into the yard, poking her in the back with a sharpened stick, drawing blood.

Before she knew it he kicked her into the fountain and threw her bed sheets in alongside her. It was cruel, even for Dante, though the worst was yet to come. He picked her up, only once she and the sheets were satisfactorily wet. Then he wrapped her in them, tightly so that she was forced to stand. The he simply left. As the hours wore on the sheets dried with the onset of dawn and as they dried they cut, slicing her all over. She could do nothing but stand there. The servants ignored her, for the last time, as Dante sauntered his way over to her after he had broken his fast with his mother. He began to laugh, surprised at how well his plan had worked. The ever-present pressure in her chest built, she could hear her heart beating, she could see every pair of eyes that had ever turned away when Dante appeared to torment her, they eyes of Dante's mother cold and blue. She could smell the wine on the breath of her father's guests looking at her as if she were something dirty, feel their rough hands on her thin dress, she could hear the silence, the lengthy gulp of wine whenever Lord Trevelyan noticed. That silence rose - the noise bleeding into a clear and continuous din- there was no wine cup for her to drown her complaints. She was no bauble, no plaything, she bled- just as they would. And for the first time, she bared her teeth.

As Dante screamed, so did the servants, even a few guards called out in horror, presuming from the bloody sheets that she had performed some sort of blood magic ritual to cut the boy every which way. They would not care for her explanation so she gave none. it was simple enough to see, she had given what she had received for years, every scar, burn and bruise replicated in a mirror who now sobbed with terror. Her father did not speak to her, only gave her a sorrowful stare and carried his son, his only child, away to the Infirmary, not before handing the Templars a dark velvet coin purse. Perhaps he did not notice the fact his own daughter shared identical wounds and scars, perhaps he no longer cared.

The Templars were not gentle, nor were they kind when they took her away to Ostwick Circle, but they did not realise what a kindness it truly was.


	2. Chapter 2: The Lady Trevelyan

The Healer at the gate was kind enough, knowing that her wounds were not self-inflicted yet somehow neglecting to tell the Templars that. Swiftly escorted through the halls of the Circle of Ostwick, she passed few people excepting a couple of children who stared as if she were a wild or exotic animal, brought inside for a show. She watched them gape at her, gratefully, for she was not used to being seen. The four Templars moving alongside her kept her pace, instead of their own. Words had been briefly exchanged with a stern looking figure at the door, explaining her presence and accounting for her behaviour. The velvet purse from her Father clinked cheerily as the frowning Templar walked away. She knew his face, he'd been her father's guest once or twice- he had bade her good day once. Upon reaching a large mahogany door, shaped in the likeness of a beautiful woman, hair streaming in all directions, light protruding from her fingertips - it was Andraste. She hadn't realised she had been clutching the cloak of the Templar closest to her, and quickly released it when she noticed his gaze on her fingers. He pretended not to notice, all the same, and when she worked up the courage to look at his face once more, the corners of his mouth twitched in a small smile.

They filled the room beyond the door, opening curtains, lighting candles, showing her where the privy was and asking if there was anything she would be needing. It seemed odd. Shouldn't they be whipping her, berating her for being a blood-mage? If any such punishment was expected, it did not arrive. The Templar with the kindly face remained while two of his companions left and indicated there would be a servant sent to wait upon her thrice a day, and a Templar would accompany them, two would be stationed outside the door at all times and she would be checked upon often. A walk in the grounds outside the circle would be permitted to her once daily and the library would be cleared for her use once daily also. Who did they think she was, that she should enjoy such treatment? A servant to wait upon a bastard was unheard of, did they not realise what she was?

Before she could gather her wits enough to express her doubts or her gratitude, the door swung open of its own accord- letting in an aged woman dressed in the simple tunic of a servant. She carried a clanking tray that made Raen's mouth water. The Templar continued, "This is Mrs Kilarn, she'll be attending you from now on."

"M'lady", the woman curtseyed and smiled so her eyes crinkled together.

"I will let you two get acquainted, it has been a long journey and I am sure the Lady Trevelyan would appreciate some food and some rest. Pretend I am not even here."

The woman laughed at that, they clearly knew each other quite well, she might have even been his mother. "Aye, son, if I got in a tizz over every Templar that passed me in the halls, I'd never catch my breath." He inclined his head respectfully, looking slightly puzzled, or perhaps affronted by the jest. Unperturbed, she continued in a rounded accent.

"Hello dear, I hope they weren't too brutish on the way here. We Andrastians get our knickers in a twist over every little thing, now, I don't know why you're here, mind you, but I'm told we are lucky to have been blessed with the patronage of such a noble Lord as your father, in these trying times. With the Blight in Ferelden and all. Anyhow, I thought you'd like something to eat and drink while we get to know each other better." She had sat beside Raen on the plush couch opposite the Templar.

Raen couldn't take it any longer, "No ma'am, I believe there's been some mistake." They, the Templar and woman, both frowned at that. "I am not… not a Trevelyan."

Mrs Kilarn raised an eyebrow ,"You aren't the daughter of Lord Trevelyan?"

Raen shook her head vigorously, she could feel their eyes on her as if they were insects crawling upon exposed skin. "No, I am his daughter ,ma'am. But I am not the Lady Trevelyan's daughter. My mother, my mother was a servant, a servant from Rivain." She didn't even know where Rivain was, but she hoped it made sense to them, somehow made the situation clearer. _It'll make sense when you're older._ Smithy was wrong. None of it made any sense, why did they keep looking at her? She could taste the salt of tears.

"Hush now, m'lady." Mrs Kilarn patted Raen's knee. Raen grimaced, as if the touch burned, and seemed to squirm within her skin. She quietened, fixing her eyes on the tray.

"He wants you to kill me, poison me. I-I won't let you…" It had to be a ruse, an elaborate plan to get back at her for hurting Dante, for having magic, for being born at all. She backed away, pressing against the wall furthest from the two alarmed onlookers, between a beautifully carved four-poster bed and a bedside table whose base was carved in the shape of a twisting dragon. She stared a moment at the dragon, she had never seen one before, only heard about the great winged lizards from one of the guards at her father's home who took pleasure in annoying his comrades with various facts about the beasts. A dragon would not be backed into a corner, it would fight back.

"My lady, I urge you to think about this before you do anything rash." The Templar had begun to unsheathe his sword, but realised his mistake as her eyes widened, and stopped midway. "Why would we have healed you, only to kill you now? Look, I am going to slowly place my sword upon the ground to show I mean you no harm. We realise you are frightened but understand there little tolerance for unrestricted magic in the Circle tower." He removed the sword from its scabbard, it was long, intensely silver, as if it were made of moonlight. It glittered even on the ground.

It seemed Mrs Kilarn had regained her composure as she said, "So that does make you Lord Trevelyan's daughter and a Trevelyan yourself. No one has told me your name, child, and it seems silly to continue without it."

"Raen."

"Raen Trevelyan. Yes, that sounds right. As Ser Ellion says, we mean you no harm. How would you like to tell us how you got here, maybe then we can all try to sort this out. I'll even eat the food before you, or Ellion will, to prove our good intentions." The girl had already begun to move from the wall, warily, with her eyes upon the Templar still. Her name had sounded almost pretty in the woman's rumbling, rounded tone. She had only heard it spoken like that once before, by her father.

"Now, we need to get a few things good and sorted, but first, you'll eat some of this." she was already dividing the food into a smaller portion for herself, which she swallowed dutifully. "Come now, m'lady." The woman could tell the girl was hungry, she looked as if she hadn't been fed in months. What had the Trevelyans done to her? "That's it, now, don't rush yourself but I'm not proceeding any further until I know what this girl's been through. I don't have to have your approval Ellion, you can stand there and block your ears or run and get the Knight-Commander for all I care."

The Templar raised his hands in a sort of surrender, plainly he was either unable or unwilling to object, so he once again took his place on the opposite side of the room, his sword still laying between himself and the two ladies.

"I can tell you how I got here, if you like. My husband was transferred here from the Circle in Ferelden, quite a few years ago now, and I came with him. I used to serve Lord and Lady Cousland when I was a girl, I was sad to hear they died before the Blight began. I've been waiting an awful long time for you m'lady, noble visits to the circle are few and far between, it's a wonder I haven't forgotten my manners. Tell me, m'lady, have you ever been outside your father's estate?"

"No ma'am", Raen replied between grateful mouthfuls of soup and bread.

"And how did you get those marks on your arms?" Raen slowed her movements at the query, should she lie? It seemed a waste not to take advantage of the only people who had ever asked.

"Dante, ma'am, Dante wanted me to show him the… magic. I wouldn't show him." She shrugged. There was a pause, an uncomfortable silence that begged reprieve.

"That's your half-brother I take it? When did he do that?"

"Yes, the Lord and Lady's son. He's also a Lord. Umm, years… I suppose. Yes, years."

The servant clicked her tongue, reaching over gesturing for Raen to pull up her sleeve, she did without hesitation, drinking in the attention, intoxicated with heady draught of self-assurance, that the scars were real. Her arms were indication enough and the quiet glance between the Templar and the woman did not escape her notice. "Are there any more?" she didn't seem to want the answer so Raen nodded, only slowly, unsure what to expect, not wanting them to leave she covered the marks quickly. The aging woman held Raen's gaze, unnerving as it was with those big yellow, almost feline eyes. "Shame on him for hurting you... I suppose you gave him a shiner or two and that's why they brought you here. Though, mind you, I'd have done it far sooner than your father had planned if it kept you out the that little scoundrel's reach."

"He planned to have me taken away?" Raen's brows furrowed.

"Yes, m'lady, when you were old enough, your father made an arrangement with the Chantry, do you know what that is?" The girl nodded. "Yes, well he made an arrangement to board you here, where you could live when you got too old to be seen as a child, when you reached marrying age, or rather when this Dante did. All this mage business was slightly unplanned but still… It was to be your home, this room, when it was no longer safe for a pretty little thing like you in your father's house. Though it seems it's never been what you'd call a safe haven, now has it?"

The girl understood what was being said, better than one would have expected. She knew all too well the kind of dangers that lurked in even the noblest of houses. The woman continued that no tutoring in the arcane arts had been arranged, as of yet for the girl, and she could deny it if she wished, the Harrowing was not essential to her indefinite stay in the tower and considering her past, it seemed a blessing. Yet she graciously accepted the private tutelage offered, relieving the Templars of a potentially uncontrollable mage. After the servant had dressed her in one of the fine sets of robes within the chest by the bed while the Templar faced the wall, and before Mrs Kilarn and Ser Ellion took their leave, he looked at the girl and sighed, "You're not a blood mage, are you, my lady? That boy cut you, you didn't do that yourself."

The girl's eyes glared, bright like a smith's poker, "No." She had them. Raen would never again correct them when they called her 'my lady', she would not let them go, not when they could see her. No matter what it took, she would not let them see that she was a Lady, she would not let them forget her.


	3. Chapter 3: Sophistry

The leather binding of tomes emblazoned with gold and silver piping illuminated and flickered in the blue light cast by Dabin's staff. He was the most rebellious of the three young mages, and so it seemed only natural he take the risk of receiving the blame if a Templar wandered past on one of their nightly patrols. "Well who can we count on for support, because I'm not sneaking out to pussyfoot around the issue at hand, unlike _some_." Alin felt the dagger behind those words pointed at him, even if it was only for pointing out that if they were found to be conspiring, they might face the same fate as the Kirkwall lot, and the Ostwick mages hadn't a Champion to defend them. Dabin had not taken the logical statement kindly, and continued as if the elf had not spoken, "The Libertarians want freedom and mark my words, there's a war coming and we'll be in the thick of it." He seemed oddly proud of that. "But we can't do it with just the Libertarians and apprentices, we need a plan, we need a _secret weapon_."

Sabine piped up, "What do you suggest, O Fearless Leader, the girl in the Tower, perhaps?" Dabin sighed, the meeting was not going to plan. "I heard she burned down a whole village and that's why she's here. Although if you ask Yveus, the senior enchanter I was telling you about, she's not a mage at all, just some rich bitch from Ferelden."

Alin's pointed ears perked up at the possibility of a mystery, one that might not involve certain death. "Really? I've tried to ask around about her but the best answer I got was that she's a whore from Kirkwall. Somebody heard Ser Brennan talking about her and Marian swears she hears all sorts of noises coming from the tower… or did you tell me that Dabin?" Their fearless leader had all but abandoned hope for the resistance by this point.

"I didn't realise I stayed up after curfew to gossip about some crazy woman in a tower. For all we know she could be one of us, but I'd rather have real, quantifiable evidence of support than a vague inclination that the all-powerful slut in the tower chooses to side with us, that is, if she has any magical abilities whatsoever. If you'd like to discuss her further, by all means, do it next time she's out for a stroll in the gardens when I'm not putting my ass on the line."

This rather monotonous monologue elicited a raised eyebrow from Sabine and a baleful look from Alin; Dabin had recaptured his audience. "Now, about that secret weapon, I think I know where the Templars store their oil…"

_Lord Trevelyan, _

_I write, as instructed to inform you of the progress of your daughter. Despite being an excellent pupil to the Senior Enchanter Ametrine, the young Lady Trevelyan seems only use magic when directly commanded to do so, much to the annoyance of her tutor, I am told she will often perform the menial tasks they asked of her with her hands rather than with sorcery. In the opinion of the Order, she is a wonder. She has already won the hearts and minds of her regular guards and even the Knight-Commander himself has remarked upon her skill and charm. He often joins her for games of chess in the afternoons. Not a single mage in the Circle expected her to pass her Harrowing, but she did, as suspected by the Order, in the fastest time recorded for one so young. She is indeed unprecedented, never has one who did not practice her magic pass. She has expressed wishes to the servants that some new dresses may be needed soon, as the weather turns cold. Yet, talented as she may be, the Lady has expressed a wish not to practice magic any further, only having done the Harrowing as a sign of respect for the Order and her Lord Father. _

_The only troubling feature of my report is that a particularly overzealous Templar, Ser Garlan, took to following her around, even going so far as to grab her in the gardens, scratching her lip with his ring. The Healer saw to her, and indeed to the Templar when she fought him off, there will be a small scar, nothing more. I can assure you the man suffered far worse, and is on his way to Ferelden's Circle as we speak. She is completely segregated from the other mages, save her tutor, but, as I say, gets on remarkably well with the Templars and myself. If I may be so bold, it seems she is grateful for the company. Do not mistake me, she is a very demure young woman, if I should suspect any untoward behaviour, I shall report it and remove the party involved immediately. _

_Your faithful servant, _

_Knight-Captain Ellion Simonin _

"Demure young woman, hmm?" Raen raised an eyebrow, feline eyes flashing dangerously.

"Yes, you get a very demure look about you when the Knight-Commander comes to call." Ellion smiled, butting the Mage's head with his own from where it sat upon his bare shoulder. "Honestly, you do, it's very endearing. A far cry from the scandalous temptress who frolics about naked for every Templar in the tower to see…"

She twisted his cloak, hastily tossed over the back of the chair he now occupied, and the woman artistically wrapped it around her body, turning to face him with an expression of mock terror. "Ser Templar, you question my honour? If, and I stress 'if' I 'frolic', as you put it, without my clothes, I do so in the confines of my suite. Can I not help, if a Templar is to burst through the door? Anyhow, I thought you Orlesians loved a scandal… or is this jealousy talking?"

He rose from the chair, and quipped "I'm only half-Orlesian and I'm not jealous, so it's neither." It was clear the latter was untrue. She would have to control the damage quickly, the support of the Knight-Captain was not something she was willing to lose and he had already begun putting on his armour .

"Do you remember the first time we were together like this?" she sighed, as if he wouldn't. Ellion stopped moving, she'd shocked him, it was so easy to do. A bit of thigh here, a touch of vulnerability there.

"Of course", he seemed unsure whether or not to continue, but she waited until he did to move. "It was a year ago, August, you were wearing the green robe because you thought the satin would be nicer to sleep in, I was on guard because Brennan was ill..." She had dropped the cloak and sauntered over to him, draping her long bronze-gold hair over her shoulders, expertly covering her breasts. Not letting the conversation linger on Brennan, nor letting her mind linger upon the fact that it had been a plot of hers, with the help of Mrs Kilarn, to put some rather disagreeably herbs in his midday meal that day. Ellion was far more attune to her machinations than the other Templars, which didn't exactly attest to his mental capacity, yet even he hadn't made the connection yet. No doubt he realised the nature of their relationship was dependent upon occasional "favours", or his acceptance of her suggestions as to what to write to the Lord Trevelyan, or perhaps he simply did not care. It never showed when he talked of the future, uncertain as it was with the Mage Rebellion in Kirkwall. He'd promised to let her go, just once, in a moment of weakness, and was surprised when she enquired as to why she would want to leave. Ser Ellion was no fool and neither was she, so why didn't she leave? The thought crossed his mind in that moment, as It often did when she looked at him like that. Maybe they did have a chance, a virgin's chance in the Black City, but still a chance.

"And I called out." She reached for his cheek, he leaned into the touch, roughly pulling her closer before she sat herself upon his lap, with no lack of subtle motion nor aural encouragement. He was getting better, better than the others, and far more useful.

"You called out my name." he breathed, She hadn't, indeed, called out his name- just a name from a lifetime ago, an old wound that reopened every time she was alone. But it mattered little when she could work it to her advantage. He pulled her, hand grabbing her hair above the nape of her neck, dragging her down.

It worked every time.


	4. Chapter 4: Will the Circle Be Unbroken?

"Raen, get up!" The servant woman's greyed auburn hair flicked in her face as Raen struggled out of her grasp. The fact that Mrs Kilarn's hair was not in its usual unruly braid was unusual, let alone the fact she was waking Raen in the middle of the night. But the girl had never slept easily alone and was easily roused.  
"Maker's Breath, Brea, What is it?" She yawned, pushing a few slightly wet tendrils of hair from her face. Colds sweats were the least of her worries now. The other woman paid little attention to her, busily gathering anything that shone into a bag by the light of a single candle. Her hands were shaking and Raen grabbed the candle before the woman burnt her favourite dress. Beneath them something rumbled, a deep and dark sound that forced her out of bed, knocking her toe upon the bedside table. It couldn't be a dragon, could it?  
"Put this on, quickly, leave the other behind. You're lucky your father sends you gold instead of goods, Maker, that was the wisest decision you ever made." The older woman held onto the various objects and purses she's collected as if they were her own children, whispering for Raen to make haste as she pulled the servant's tunic over her head. The clothes reminded her of those she had arrived at the Circle with, all those years ago, when she was somebody else.  
"Alright, now grab that staff and pray to Andraste that we don't need it."

Raen grudgingly did as she was told, the staff had done nothing but collect dust since her Harrowing, laying upon her desk. It was the sort that shifted from one size to another, a gift. The tower stairs began to shake ever so slightly as they descended into darkness, stopped only by Mrs Kilarn near knocking Ser Elionn unconscious with a bag of gold as he came rushing towards them.  
"What in Andraste's name are you doing, Captain? Shouldn't you be quelling the rebellion?!" Mrs Kilarn was clearly unhappy with the current state of things.  
"We can't quell an inferno the mages didn't create...directly. The tower's stone so there's no chance it'll topple upon us all yet, Ma'am, so I'd advise you to get a hold of yourself." He didn't look at the elderly woman as he spoke though, only tried, most hopelessly to convey with his eyes what he felt in his heart. She would have to choose. But hadn't she already chosen?

He seemed so useless, just standing there, perhaps he needed a push. "Where do we go?" Raen asked, in the most desperate tone she could summon.  
"Yes, we must get you as far away from the tower as possible, they'll come for the Phylacteries next and unfortunately that's where we are now. Come," he turned and began to move, no cloak streaming out behind him as there was the first time she's followed him around the Circle. She had clung to it then, the shame of it still made her grit her teeth. They moved silently through the corridors, pausing occasionally in anticipation of a reckoning that didn't come. Ellion had his sword raised, and it flashed in the dim candlelight.

Raen hardly noticed the icicle piercing his side, yet the one protruding from the chest of Mrs Kilarn was hard to miss. It didn't make sense, the tower was burning, that shouldn't be there. It was wrong. Brea Kilarn wasn't a Templar, that wasn't fair. The mage who had cast the spell stood opposite her, a look of triumph lit his features with cold light. The room smelt of blood, Raen could feel his eyes upon her widen in surprise, this was a serving girl he hadn't seen before. Raen held Mrs Kilarn's body upright until she no longer saw the sense in it. A second mage had appeared and the first spoke quickly, "I think I found you girl in the tower, Sabine", before he turned on Raen. He spoke, his arms were moving, his staff ablaze with the same ice Ellion was attempting to pull from his side. She did not hear him, she heard the silence of Mrs Kilarn, dead at her feet. It was louder than thunder. The silence needed breaking. That mage needed breaking. The pressure built, she was artful, as she always had been, pulling the large, wicked looking frozen blade from the heart of Mrs Kilarn and walking to where the mage stood. She took him by surprise, a woman holding a staff only moments before now approached him with a blade of sorts. She moved quickly, pressing him against the wall in a single movement driving the icicle between his ribs. There was no time to raise a ward, no time to fight back, before an unimaginable cold gripped his heart, the sense of freedom, of accomplishment for the first time in his life still lingered as he slipped into darkness. At least he'd taken a couple of Templar's with him.

"Dabin! No, no, you can't leave us!" the other mage, Sabine, wailed. Dabin could no longer hear her. Raen thought about raising him, having him wrap his burnt hands about the other girl's neck until she surrendered the will to go on, only for the briefest of moments. There was a better plan, she decided, as she glanced at Ellion lying motionless upon the stone ground. This time summoning blue flames that soothed the harsh noise in her mind. The blue flames grew from her fingertips , she needed no staff. The mage broke the silence as she died, brought her back to herselfThe mage looked almost picturesque, draped, unrecognisable, over her comrade in a display of pitiable solidarity. But that wasn't what she was going for. The now unidentifiable girl was too hot to carry over to where Raen had stood beside her now dead confidante, so Raen simply stood opposite her and blasted her into place, creating quite a display the Templars, and indeed other mages, would find horrifying come morning. If they were ever found, that is. As she stood, in the stillness of remembering something she had done long ago, she barely noticed the elf as he rounded the corner. He must have been running after Sabine, or running from a Templar or two, though they were thankfully nowhere to be seen.

The young man stood and stuttered for what seemed like an age, putting together the pieces in his mind. "You, you're the girl in the tower, aren't you? You did this?" his eyes were rimmed with tears. She shrugged, ever so slightly, "I did some." He didn't seem to hear, just stared, mouth agape at the scene. She had slammed him against the wall with the same haste and precision as she had his companion. "Please don't kill me", he whispered, so quietly as a tear smeared the ash upon his face.  
"I'm not going to kill you" she could work this to her advantage. "You're going to stay right here, you're going to protect any servant that comes your way and you're going to survive. Do you understand? I need you to survive because you're going to do something for me…"

Ellion was slipping in and out of consciousness, the world around him faded from black to white as he struggled to focus. The pain wasn't so bad, it was difficult, however, to keep one's eyes open when one had lost so much blood. Sometimes he thought he could see Raen, but then she was gone, engulfed by the dark. He could see her now, in the steady light of her suite, cowering from him as he placed his sword upon the ground. She'd gripped his cloak only moments before, frightened. He could see her eyes glow as she smiled for the first time. He could see her dressed for dinner, asking whoever was on guard inside, no matter the roster. He saw her wake, her chest rising and falling upon the bed as she beckoned him over, looking slightly less composed than she usually did. He saw her illuminated by Chantry stained-glass, dressed in pale finery that looked out of place against her bronzed skin, she was waiting for him. The visions would disappear as quickly as they had come, until they were finally replaced with comfortable darkness.

The elf wasted no time in enacting the plan the girl had put forth, he cleaned the wound of the injured Templar, praying to whatever god would listen that it would earn him some leniency as she had suggested. He was lucky, he knew that, lucky she didn't kill him, lucky he was a healer that could do more than wait for the human man to die, taking his chance of survival with him. The Templar came to surprisingly quickly, asking for someone named Raen. "Shh, Ser, I don't know who that is but…" the elf was always better with patients than actual people.  
"Alin?" Ser Ellion asked, the elf was surprised the man knew his name.  
"Yes, Ser. I'm afraid you've been wounded, badly. Your companions were beyond help when I arrived. I - I saw the girl die, I tried to help but she was already... " The news seemed to shock him somehow, perhaps he hadn't remembered they were in the midst of a rebellion, Alin should have started with that. The man attempted to rise, to look over Alin's shoulder at the bodies of Mrs Kilarn and what he was to assume was the girl from the tower. Alin let him get a glimpse, before gently pushing him back down. The Templar did not appreciate that and roughly pushed past Alin, dragging himself over to the unrecognisable body. He drank in the scene, coughing and spluttering at the foul taste of it. He reached over, clutching a staff Alin had not seen before. It had been broken against the wall and pressed into Sabine's burnt hand.

Raen had been grateful it had been an apprentice that had found them, the plan wouldn't have worked had someone not been there to verify her death. And by the sound of it, Ellion had just received the news. She had stayed out of sight, to confirm her plan had worked. It had, as had the Mages', scored by the shattering of hundreds of glass Phylacteries. She thought she ought to have felt something as she turned away from his cries, but as the choked and harsh sound of her name faded to nothing, she could only half-heartedly note every crack in his voice, every step it took until she reached the docks.

Every piece of gold she doled out at the Harbourmaster's clinked with the sound of the unknown.  
"Rivain, eh?" The Harbourmaster chuckled, "It's not everyday we have a young girl going to Rivain, is it Nessie?" he smiled at a girl of about ten perched upon the counter who was plating with what looked to be a small ship whittled out of wood, rocking it on a piece of cloth as if it were in the midst of a storm. "No Papa."  
"I'd like to leave as soon as possible, please." She wasn't waiting around for the Templars to scour the countryside for escaped mages, not when she knew them all by name.  
"Aye, Miss, we'll get you on your way tonight, if you're lucky. I daresay Cap'n Horn will leave within the hour. Do you have any luggage?" he chortled.  
"No Sir." She gave smile despite herself, he spoke in the same rounded tones as Mrs Kilarn. Somehow this made her sad, it must have been visible for the child picked up the burgundy cloth she had been using to rock the boat and handed it to Raen. "You can have this, I've got a blue one that's much better."  
"Thank you. I'll wear it with pride." It smelt of salt and brine, mixed with the smoke of a fire. It wasn't fine material, it was rough like the simple clothes she now wore. The girl wouldn't know how fitting the gift was, it would hide her dark golden hair, her most noticeable feature besides her eyes, from any suspecting Templars or soldiers. As Raen wrapped it around her head, in a tighter fashion than she had seen the maids at her father's house wear such things. The child laughed, "You're a ship, and it's you flag atop your mast, Miss!"  
It was quite easy to smile back at the child, nodding at the aptness of the metaphor. Raen then pulled her hair to the left and attempted to pull the long, unruly waves into a braid, as she'd watched Mrs Kilarn do, though she'd loved to do anything but a braid most days. "Can I do it? I can teach you while I do it." the child wondered aloud.  
"That might be best." Raen agreed, she had never done it herself before. Nessie's father was busy now with Raen's papers but laughed at his daughter's easy manners. The child worked quickly, sayign a rhyme to help Raen remember 'right hand over, left hand over' until she had finished and expertly worked two strands from under the cloth, one on each side of her face. She was obviously proud of her handiwork.  
"Now, Miss, what name shall I put on the papers here? They won't ask on the ship, they'll just call you 'miss' or 'lass' but it's my duty to record the names of those going and coming in case of emergency."  
The young woman was careful not to show any hesitancy, any sign of doubt before she replied. "Sabine, my name is Sabine."


	5. Chapter 5: Ambition

"Well you can just fuck right off, Raen" old Jessa smirked. "I expected you at half-ten yesterday and this mornin' I hear you've been off with that Fereldan bloke, the nutty one with the earring and the cat who's writing the book on Hedge-mages. I hope you didn't tell him you were a bloody mage yourself, he'll never leave you alone!"

The Hedge-witch meant well, took Raen in straight away when she said she was half-Rivaini. As soon as she'd arrived, it had seemed only right to forget about being a Lord's daughter, that sort of thing didn't fit here. Her mother had fit here. Raen had always had the suspicion Jessa had known her mother maybe, or perhaps that was just some silly fantasy, either way she never mentioned it. "And you had better get going if you want to catch that bloody boat. You make sure the Shaman gets these supplies with a damn-good apology from you, not me, you. And you didn't tell the batty book bloke that I'm a hedge-witch did you? I know he damn well thinks you're one now."

Raen laughed, "Come now Jessa, I've been telling him all the tricks of the trade and he's _paying_! Don't worry, you don't have to fret over him coming after you."

Jessa laughed at that, "I'll bet he only bloody likes you because you've got the same colour eyes as his cat. Never trust a man who likes cats, is what I've always said. Now, get out of here, girly, you're too young to be prancing about with older gentlemen. You've been spending too much time with those whores down by the docks."

"Girl's gotta make a living, Jess" Raen scooted out of the way just in time to avoid a fizzling spark of energy flung at her head, closing the door behind her.

* * *

At twenty years of age, the docks were by far her favourite place to spend her time, the girls were fairly far from classy but the brothels provided a wealth of opportunities for someone like Raen, the type ignominious enough to get away with most anything. If one knew who to ask, there was always work; spying most often, but pilfering and general manual labour were always an option. Plus, one could always be sure of supper in the Black Cat.

"I don't know why I always find you up here when it's raining." Katia smiled. "It's a wonder I can clamber up the wall at all after a night with Isabela… she's like you y'know, she knows everything, everyone. Always got her eyes on that horizon, or on herself." She was by far the nosiest, and friendliest person Raen had bothered to get to know.

"I think that's the problem, Kat, I want it all, I want to crawl my way from one corner of Thedas to the next, I want to drink Antivan wine, I want to see a dragon, I want to fuck the damn Prince of Starkhaven, I want to see Tevinter and Par Vollen." Raen kicked her legs out over the balcony swinging dangerously on the railing. "It's been four years since I came to Rivain, Kat. There's only so much you can do in the one place. I'm going Kat, next vessel pulls into port, I'm on it. I've got the money." That was it, the sort of person she was, the sort she'd allowed herself to be, the sort she always had been.

The other girl had strangely begun to smile, eyes glistening. "You're like Bela, all right. You'll do all those things Rae, I've no doubt." She chuckled heartily, "And there Madam was thinking she could recruit you."

* * *

She could play the game better than most others, she'd learned from Kat, who'd learned from Isabela. Nobody in Rivain had beaten her at Wicked Grace, thank the Sun, she couldn't stand to lose any money. Nobody except Cahil.

The girls liked him, though he rarely bought, only drank. His Captain was a rich bastard, pliable only when inebriated, and the rest of the crew were some of the best customers the Black Cat had, never caused any trouble and were likely to help out if there was trouble being caused. Raen was running Wicked Grace games in a corner of the Cat that wasn't occupied by a canoodling couple when they swept into town, like a late summer thrall. She didn't pay him any mind until he sat opposite her and eyed her over the rim of his tankard. "Have I seen you before?" he enquired softly. He has pale, with aquiline features accentuated by the kind of dark stubble and the long roguish hair, tied back with tentative tendrils stroking at his cheekbones. She imagined he drove the girls in town wild with that vacant and vague expression of disinterest.

"No, I'm usually working behind the scenes, so to speak. Are we playing or not?" she avoided his dark eyes and moved to deal the cards. It showed on his face, Cahil was used to people paying attention when he spoke, maybe even standing to attention, a far cry from the treatment he was receiving.

"Ah, I see, that's a shame, I was going to ask if you were working tonight. Wicked Grace… sure, perhaps a game would do me good." he spoke with a Ferelden accent, softly though, so it was not apparent at first and he placed bag of coin on the wooden table. "I'll give you all I've got, lass."

She raised an eyebrow, "That's rather ambitious. Are you expecting me to match that?", meeting his eyes for the first time. He seemed surprised, as most people were, yellow eyes are odd, even in Rivain.

He shrugged nonchalantly, and continued louder this time, he had a sort of booming voice, deep and rich. "If you want, we could make this more interesting… if you cannot match my bet sufficiently, then if I win, I get to ask a favour of you. Rumour has it you're the woman to ask if one wants something done."

"My, my, you are arrogant, not to mention vain." Raen almost smiled. "Do you imagine that favour will entail sex, because I can assure you it will not."

"I thought nothing of the sort, m'lady." he quipped.

"Excellent." Raen dealt the cards, careful to employ her usual method of hiding a card slyly between her legs.

The game did not last long, one cheater can often spot another, it seems, and he reached under the table and silently snatched the spare card, clicking his tongue. Enraged, she grabbed the pack of cards from beneath his seat, slammed them atop the table and sat back with a triumphant 'HA!'.

"It takes a cheat to know a cheat", a funny little half-smile had alighted his features, softening them substantially. "But the offer still stands, if you wish to take the money, lass, it's yours." He pushed the bag towards her, disinterestedly.

Annoyed beyond reason she stuck a dagger between his middle and forefinger.

"You're offering me a handout? Look, I don't know how things work in tra-la-la-di-day or wherever you're from but here we earn our money. If you want to pay me, give me a job and I'll do it. If that's what you wanted, then find me, unless your head is too big to fit through that door. And don't call me 'lass', what am I, twelve?"

Needless to say, he was taken aback.

* * *

It was raining again, the sea rolled and thundered beneath the clouds in the distance. She was not alone on the balcony, Kat scaled the wall beneath her. "Are you right there Kat?", she poked her head over the railing to see why her closest acquaintance was scrambling like an idiot. It was not Kat. It was Cahil. "What in the Black city are you doing here?", she snapped, adjusting her headscarf now skewed from her hasty retreat.

"Well, I did venture out in the rain especially to hire you, you tempestuous bitch, you said to find you." he squinted at her through the rain. He was so… composed. So, cold when he spoke, even calling her a bitch there was hardly any emotion bar a seemingly perpetual sense of disconnected annoyance.

"What kind of job?" Despite her objecitions, Raen's interest was piqued.

"Simple one. I need you to board our ship, leave with us, stage a mutiny, help me secure the Captaincy and then you can waltz back to Rivain with all your hard-earned coin if you like. Can you handle a task such as that?" he seemed at least slightly interested at that point.

"Are you insane? Why do you need me to help you do that? I don't even _know_ you…" She leaned over the railing, turning her back on him. "What makes you think you'd be such a great Captain anyhow?"

"No, you don't know me, but I know of you. Listen. You've been shaking up the Rivaini underworld for two years, whoever hires you is all but guaranteed to come out on top whether it's political or private. You're so good at the game, I'd assumed you were Orlesian. You're street-smart, which means you can work land and sea, you're selfish, so I can predict your motives easily, and you're good with a knife, otherwise I'd be missing a finger. Add in the fact that you're not unattractive which makes manipulating men much easier than if I were to do it myself, in addition to the fact you're not a whore and it seems you're a fairly safe bet. Plus, I get the feeling you'd do almost anything so long as the coin is good. Including using those Mage-powers of yours, correct?"

His mouth was moving and she caught every few words, but her mind had already boarded the ship and was chasing down that horizon. Wait. Did he say 'mage'? "Well you've obviously done your research, Mister, but your source is off on the whole Mage thing, otherwise I'd be catting up a spirit right now or I'd be in the Mage Cage."

"I think I'm quite correct, whether you'd like to admit it or not. Do not mistake my intentions, I want you to help me, I don't mean to intimidate you into doing it with threats of Templars. And, like I said, I wouldn't ask you to do anything you're uncomfortable with. Believe me, if you prefer them, blades are more than fine."

He was a bully and it was quite plain, a selfish one at that. But she wasn't about to kick up a fuss or dig her heels in when the opportunity for yet another life presented itself. _It'll make sense when you're older. _Maybe it was starting to.

"When do we start?"


	6. Chapter 6: Push and Pull

"Do you really think he deserved to die like that?" The woman's face was hidden beneath her favourite hat which was placed atop a maroon bandana wrapped about her golden tresses now worn loosely about her shoulders, braided and woven in random places. That's how he'd know her in the brothel, 'the Rivaini in the red bandanna', she'll get whatever you need done, if the coin is right, they'd said. She certainly looked the part of the shifty rogue now, after months at sea.

"Well, it was hardly my fault alone, and they believed him a traitor anyhow." Cahil shrugged, tracing a finger absentmindedly over an elaborate carving of a woman dancing with a skeleton upon the ship's railing.

"They only believed that because that's how we planned it." she lifted the hat slightly so he could see her smirk. "You must have been a delightful child, you know, all work and no play, convinced the world owes you shit because your mother was an elf. Are you surprised I guessed that, after all this time? I'll bet you used to lie awake at night plotting and scheming your revenge on the world." She seemed almost sad, this wasn't her usual teasing. Maybe it was because he'd told her the plan, his master plan. They'd pull into every major port from Par Vollen to Orlais, gather ships, gather a fleet, and they'd take the island of Estwatch, just south of Rivain, by force. It would be a Repiblic of Thieves, a rogue's paradise. No kings, no government. They would set up a trading company, he had a mind made for business and so did she. At least, that was the plan. It had always been his plan, working her and the crew into it came later. What authority would dare take Estwatch from them? The Chevaliers? The Templars? Nobody had bothered to stop the pirates before, why should they object to a confederacy of them?

"No, I'm not surprised you figured that out at all." He paused before continuing. "And what did you lie awake and think about as a child, Raen?" The question seemed expected, he didn't know anything about her other than there was no way she was raised in Rivain- though even guessing that had been difficult enough, the woman was a master as hiding things. Yet she still delayed the answer. The sun was rising, a pretty sight hovering above the Amaranthine Ocean like a fresh smear of blood.

"I thought about nothing." It wasn't the sort of 'nothing' one said to allay further questioning or to evade a topic. It slipped from her lips as if it were tears from her eyes, as if she were ashamed of it. She prided herself on her ability to think, to decide, to plan. He knew that.

"The world works-" he began.

"Maker help you if you say 'in mysterious ways' Cahil." she gripped the railing, leaning as far as she dared. He roped a hand in her loose linen shirt- a cautionary measure, a side-effect from fighting back to back with her for months.

"I was going to say the world works in a brutal fashion- fate will bend you until you either break or change your shape completely. The beatings don't become less frequent as you get older, you just get used to the smell of your own blood and learn to move past it." It was a poor attempt at consolation, but it was the kind of encouragement she'd allow.

"How very inspirational Captain." she scoffed half-heartedly. "Y'know, for all my teasing, I do believe you're a better Captain than he was. If I didn't, I'd have voted against you, and turned all the Rivaini crewmembers against you." It was her sort of compliment.

"Thank you. I think. Shall we prepare to Dock?" he released her with a lingering pat on the back. She'd done good work. He always said that to himself whenever they spoke like this, or when they did more than speak. It's just business. She's a good investment.

"Aye Captain" she turned and began to climb the ropes nearest to her, calling out for the crew to get their asses up and ready to pull into port. This was to be the first step upon their most important journey yet. Securing the captaincy of 'The Griffon' was only a minor piece of the puzzle.

"Time to move boys" she roared as the men hauled ropes in every which way, securing the gargantuan galley by Kirkwall's dock. The city loomed above them, cold and grey. Statues of slaves towered above them. Kirkwall was indeed the opposite of welcoming. No wonder the mages rebelled.

* * *

The Blooming Rose was nice enough, far nicer than The Black Cat, anyhow. Cahil sat in the corner whispering in the ear of a dark-haired human. All bets were off when they pulled into port. She'd have to find somewhere else to sit. The perfume in the air was warm, stifling. She had better order a drink before she left, make the trek from the docks worthwhile. "Any news from Rivain?" she asked the bartender, sliding two gold pieces over the counter.

"Yes Serah, about the Circle. Terrible thing." he spoke with an expression that led her to believe whatever had transpired was not, in his opinion, terrible in the least.

"What about it?" she kept her tone light, disinterested, for the sake of the pair of Templars in the corner.

His voice had dropped to a whisper, "They invoked the Rite. I hear the mages heard about all the strife here and started getting ideas. Something to do with spirit healers and possessions, heathen traditions and all that. Templars aren't taking chances no more, especially not since all the uprisings in the Free Marches. Here was bad enough, then Ostwick, The White bloody Spire and now Rivain."

She could hear the Templars laughing in the corner so very clearly, as if they were breathing down her neck. Her fists clenched her tankard. How silly of her to forget, in the Marches she was light-skinned enough to pass as a native, the bartender had naturally assumed she would not be offended by the 'heathen' comment. The could of the dark-haired girl chuckling darkly mixed with the Templar's mirth. Raen could feel the pressure at the base of her skull mounting. It was time to go. She caught Cahil's eye as she turned to leave. For half a second it seemed as if he might join her, but he did not. She didn't care. Before she took her leave though she noticed the elven girl pressed against a wall uncomfortably by a Templar who didn't seem to be listening to her protests. It couldn't hurt to make an ever so small scene. "I believe this young lady has a prior engagement, Ser Templar." she stated loudly, loud enough for the Madam to have heard. "Piss off, bitch." he retorted, unconvincingly.

"I see, so you won't mind me contacting the Knight Captain about your after-hours entertainment?" she smiled sweetly. That did the trick. He slunk back to the corner and almost immediately was attended by a chirpy blonde human. Raen pretended not to notice the elven girl's tears as she placed a small coin purse in the girl's shaking hands. "A word of advice; they only give what they think you're going to take." And with that small and perhaps unhelpful or at least undesirable pearl of wisdom, she was gone.

Her contact squealed like a stuck pig when she slammed him against the stone of a Lowtown alleyway with one arm. "I said, where are they meeting?" she growled, eyes burning.

"The Temple of Sacred Ashes!" he cried.

"And what news from Ostwick?" she snapped. His eyes were practically popping out of their sockets. "The Marcher lords are all demanding an end to the conflict, as I said, and they are led by Lord Trevelyan. He lost a relative or something in the Ostwick Uprising. Oh please, the Templars will kill me. Let me go. Please." She did. Thankful he hadn't made her use too much force. She would have to move quickly.

The ominous looking sign of The Hanged Man loomed over her as she pushed open the door. Those crewmembers who weren't at the Rose were there, more out of habit than actual poverty. She found herself in the same position, forces of habit and all that. The portly man occupying the table furthest from the bar waved her over, the man sitting opposite him was engrossed in the hand of cards he had just been offered. His cheeks were rosy, as they usually were, though it was barely visible under his dark complexion. Briggins was by far the kindest of the crew, he'd never once questioned her and had defended her when others did and she knew he had known Cahil since he was a child, Briggins was like a father to him. Though the former loathed to admit it. She strolled over, making sure to look at the other man's cards before sitting down beside him.

"Evening there, Rae. How're things in Hightown?" he chuckled. The thought of lords and ladies traipsing around in their finery was still laughable to some members of the crew since their cut of the profits steadily increased as Cahil grew more bold, she was grateful. "I hope you brought your coin purse Daveth.", he chuckled at the painfully straight-faced man next to her. Daveth had but one pair, a poor hand to say the least, and now Briggins knew that from the way Raen scratched the scar on her lip. Helping the crew win at cards had been extremely helpful when she had first boarded. It was an excellent way to earn trust, if one was careful enough.

"Same as ever, I'm afraid." She could tell he was waiting for her to go on. Daft though he may act, Briggins was as far from an imbecile as one could get. He'd figured her out within weeks of her boarding 'The Griffon' for the first time. She'd used a spell, well, she wasn't even sure it was a spell, just an action of the desperate, to slice a mercenary that had snuck up on Cahil, from head to toe. Naturally, Briggins' eye was on Cahil and within moments had turned to the woman standing halfway across the ship with her hands raised. She knew he had noticed, even though he never said a word. She wasn't willing to be the one to continue the conversation, so she avoided the man's eyes while busying herself pulling her hair up into a braid with a series of gold, fan-shaped clips. The raise in wages and loot was not lost on her, considering she got the lion's share of female clothing and jewellery. The Orlesian treasure galleys were undoubtedly her favourite prize.

"You all right, Rae? You didn't have family in the Circle, did you?" he tilted his head, concerned. He was clever, it was an innocent enough question. One that she ignored.

"I'm going to need to ask Cahil a favour. He's not going to like it, but I'm hoping he'll do it anyway."

Briggins sighed, "Well if anyone could convince him to do something he won't like, I'd say it'd be you." The comment wasn't what she was expecting to hear. "Our Cahil may be vain, painfully single-minded and occasionally brutal - only when he's frustrated or coerced, mind you- but he's nothing if not loyal to those he believes worthy. And by the Sun, you'd have to have made the cut by now." She wasn't sure, not today. Cahil wasn't as pliable as a Templar nor as faithful as a friend but it didn't matter, she'd have to try.

* * *

She didn't seem human when she watched him like that, golden eyes molten in the candlelight. It wasn't like her to wait for him, she'd usually be off doing Maker knows what with Maker knows who at this hour. But then again, she was not a woman one understood, she someone to watch, someone to sharped like a blade, someone to mourn. She looked beautiful like this, sat like a Queen atop silken sheets, hair draped over both shoulders. He wanted to call her a Siren, she would take it as a compliment, he'd said it before.

For a long time she did not say anything, only watched him undress from across the room. Something hung in the air between them, it wasn't the whores at the Rose, Raen couldn't care less about them. "I heard about the Circle…" he rested a hand with his thumb upon his first-mate's cheek, running it roughly along her cheekbones and in her hair. He would have been gentle had he not known she liked otherwise. He was getting too used to this, they were getting too used to one another. In quiet moments like this he wanted to pick her up and throw her overboard, to prove she wasn't real, that she was some creature from the deep come to fill him with the weight of alien happiness at midnight violence. She would drag him down with her if given the chance, he knew. She didn't let him finish the statement before pulling him down to press her lips against his.

As their breathing slowed she turned on him, as if wielding a blade, she reached the point of the evening. "I need you to take me to Ferelden. There's something I've got to do, at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. When I'm done, I'll reimburse you the cost of the journey, plus the return."

"Is this about the Mages? C'mon Raen, what can you do for them?" he sighed.

"I don't want to do anything for them, if they haven't got the sense or the balls to fight for themselves, they they deserve to be cooped up in Circles. You know how I feel about that." He did, only because he had asked once. Her response had surprised him, he'd have thought she would have sympathised with the Mages.

"Then what is it you've got to do?" he mused quietly, nonchalantly.

"Rise from the dead." And with that final word, she left, clothes bundled up in her arms. It didn't surprise Cahil, she had never stayed before. She was dragging him down with her, into the blue. He knew it. But that didn't mean he wasn't going to let her. Estwatch would still be there when they came back.


	7. Chapter 7: Asunder

"So Rae, I'm just checking for the sake of the crew here. We do have a plan? Or at least you have a plan?" Briggins was struggling to keep up, round stomach bobbing in the crisp Haven air. The rest of the crew lagged behind, loudly discussing the best way to pick a pocket, not that they really needed to pick pockets.

"I've always got a plan, Briggins." she smiled, "We simply walk to the temple, announce that I am not dead and return to the ship."

"Yes, Rae, but why must we tell these people you're not dead? Surely you could just send a letter." Briggins puffed, "Save us having to climb all these stairs, eh?"

"I owe someone up there a great debt, one I intend to pay." She would say no more and left Chail to fill the silence, matching her pace as they went along.

"I expected you to wear a dress." he deadpanned, earning himself a laugh from Briggins and a scowl from her. "Have you ever seen me in a dress?"

"No." He doubted he ever would, she preferred Rivaini breeches, light and flattering, coupled with a Qunari-style shirt, if one could call it that, which left little to the imagination. Such clothes, however, were unsuited to the Fereldan winter and thus she had chosen a simple figure-hugging linen lace-up shirt and a beautiful ebony coat that flared at the tail. She looked noble, or at least wealthy, despite the headscarf and hat that she'd pinched from his head only minutes before.

The road to the Temple of Sacred Ashes was long and uncomfortable until the majority of the crew decided to remain at a tavern situated in the village not far from the Temple. Only Cail remained, hoping to somehow make the trip worthwhile for himself or perhaps to check that she really was simply paying a debt. Either way she didn't mind. As they neared the entrance, her smiles became less frequent, her hands had begun to shake as she asked a stern-looking enchanter about something, as she walked back she ignored Cahil, passing him as if he weren't even there, so he grabbed her hand. That surprised her, hand-holding wasn't part of the agreement.

"Tell me the name of the person and we'll split up, or you can take a seat while I bring them to you." The offer was kind. "His name is Alin, he's an elf. Red hair…" she put a hand to her lip, rubbing a scar as she thought. She had many scars, he hadn't really had to pay attention to the ones she'd received before they met, the two slices along her cheekbone was his fault, he knew, he should have parried the scimitar. "Blue eyes, I think."

It didn't take long for Cahil to bring the elf back, by force of intimidation. She could see it in the set of the elf's shoulders, in the way he walked just out of arm's reach of Cahil. That was, until the man grabbed him and shoved him in her direction.

"Messere, I can assure you, I have no idea what you're talking…" he stopped when he saw her. "Maker above, you have to get out of here."

"I realise this has come as a surprise, but I wanted to pay you for your services, I'll be needing them no longer." She threw a large, heavy coin purse at him. He caught it and stared at her in horror.

"Do you have any idea what your death did for the mages?" he looked as If he were about to cry. "The Templars, the Marcher Lords… all because you're dead." This wasn't what she expected, a 'thank you' would have sufficed. She didn't want to hear how appreciated her death was, didn't want to hear about Templars or Lords. She was not the Lady Trevelyan any longer.

* * *

He saw her face in dreams, in mirrors and in magic. Every brazier that burnt with that cool, blue light was a reminder. It had been a year and a half and still he couldn't pin his cloak without thinking of that scared girl who'd clutched at it all those years ago. It still didn't make any sense. If he hadn't seen the body, he wouldn't have believed it. The Lord Trevelyan needed no more proof than the staff, a gift from himself, the first he had ever given her, he said.

It had been Ellion's duty to report the death of the Lacy Trevelyan to her father, he made sure to do it at court- so the man's wife and son could see the damage they had caused, though the son was nowhere to be found. The Lord had sat quietly as Ellion explained what had happened, that he had tried his best. It sounded pathetic even as he was saying it, but it needed to be said. The pale, drawn woman beside the Lord opened her mouth to speak when he was done, but the Lord roared at her before she could draw breath.

"Out! All of you, out!" From the reaction of his courtly fellows, Ellion could tell, this was a man that did not raise his voice. The elder Lady Trevelyan shot him a rancid look as she exited the Hall, skirts swirling

"I apologise, young man, I had planned to shake your hand under better circumstances." he rose and approached the Templar. "You must think me quite pathetic. The sort of man that lets his own blood suffer under his roof." There were tears in his eyes and voice as he spoke. "Was she happy? Please tell me again, she was happy."

"I-I believe she was, my Lord." his own voice spoke to his grief as he produced her staff from the bag at his side. "I am sorry I failed you. I failed her."

"No son, it was I that failed her."

That was the beginning, since the Circle was in ruins, the Lord Trevelyan offered his house and grounds to the Templars and Mages. The house was relatively safe, considering Dante had taken up training to become a Chevalier in Orlais, denied the right to become a Templar by his father, despite the family's history of Chantry service. They had received word in the next autumn that there was to be a meeting of Chantry officials and the leaders of the Mage rebellion in Ferelden. The entire household prepared for the journey, Lord Trevelyan was determined not to be inactive in the matter, and organised passage for a variety of Chantry-goers and Mages alike, including the elf Alin. Who was tried as a conspirator, but thanks to Knight-Commander, the previous Commander had been killed in the uprising, Ellion- he was acquitted.

Ellion had to find Alin now, the man was always getting lost in a crowd and the meeting had already begun. The elf was apparently taking an interest in a woman, for the first time in his life, though it seemed she terrified him. A man stood behind Alin, a tall, pale rogue with dark hair and stubble. The pair of strangers seemed to be the sort of rogues that liked to tag-team the picking of pockets, and Alin was doing a fine job as a target. He drew his sword, the remaining stragglers separated as he passed and placed a gauntleted hand upon the male's shoulder. "The Chantry has little tolerance for thieves, Messere."

Alin turned and the look of pure terror upon his face suggested something other than petty crime was afoot. The dark-haired man piped up arrogantly, "Well who in the Black City is this?" Nobody answered. The woman was staring, mouth open wide. She was pretty, from the little he could see of her face. Twin scars ran along the cheek he could see, another pierced her full lips. He'd kissed that scar, he'd beaten a man bloody in the infirmary for that scar. Had she come to haunt him?

The question remained unanswered as the sky split in two and the world was torn asunder.


End file.
